“America is in the Heart” by Carlos Bulosan is a book you may have heard of or have had to read for your 20th Century Literature class. Luckily, I had a friend that was in the class who let me borrow it after her assignment was finished, and it was exactly what I needed at the time. This stunning piece of literature was one of my fastest reads, because of how much my heart connected with Bulosan as he told his story of migrating to the United States from a small coastal province in the Philippines. He describes in detail the struggles of living as a migrant and laborer in the West, highlighting the setting of the Western coastline during the 1930s, a viewpoint and history that I have never been exposed to. His story made a greater impression on me because his story was centralized in California specifically, where I was born and raised. This novel is known to be one of the earliest books that presented the experiences of the immigrant and working-class from an Asian-American perspective and has been regarded as “the premier text of the Filipino-American experience.” When my friend, who is not of Asian descent, told me she was reading it, I felt an immense sense of pride that the university I go to would assign such literature, but also a bit insecure because I hadn’t read the book and had no clue how significant it was to my community. I was scared about how she would receive the stories and testimony of the group with which I associated a huge amount of my identity.
The beauty of this book comes from the vivid imagery Bulosan composes. Throughout the book, I was able to picture myself in his shoes and visualize what was around me, whether that be the bright and dangerous casinos that he frequently ran into in 1930s California or the childhood barrio he lived in with his mother in Binalonan, Pangasinan. Bulosan beautifully narrates the identity struggle he experienced, constantly wondering if moving to the States instead of being there for his family in the Philippines was the right decision, holding the belief that many Filipino migrants have to this day, that coming to America is the goal and is the best way to provide for your family.
I was shamefully unaware of the hatred that brown-skinned Filipinos experienced in the 30s and 40s, Bulosan stating that he constantly saw signs such as “Dogs and Filipinos not allowed.” Because I was taught growing up to embrace love and pride for my ethnicity, I ended up being oblivious to the hate that my community experienced. But now I am mature enough to receive the stories of those who came before my parents, stories that wouldn’t have been exposed without pioneers and activists like Bulosan. This book paved the way for Filipino writers after him to write about the prejudice and injustice that I believe Filipino parents are taught to hide from their children. One of the core Filipino values is strength, something that can either be empowering or damaging to an identity-seeking Filipino-American, such as myself. The reason why this book came at such a perfect moment is that at the time I was angry at the traits that myself and many Filipino-Americans I knew were exhibiting, traits such as “hiding your pain,” “pushing through,” and even just plain gossiping, or “chismis” as Filipinos label it, all which are toxic yet associated with Filipino culture.
But, this book reminded me that there is more to the Filipino experience than the ways in which we exude our culture now. There were people, and still are people to this day, who advocated for the pride and exposure of Filipino history because of what we had to do in order to be accepted here. We had to disguise pain because if not we would seem weak and be denied; we had to push through because it was the only way to find success, not sure if “chismis” ever could be justified, (yet Filipinos such as myself and many other ethnic cultures shamelessly do) but Bulosan realizes in his journey what I realized in my reflection after reading the book, that we should never destroy our faith in our country. For Bulosan, this is attributed to the country that was viewed as “the dream” which nearly broke him. For me, this is in regards to the community to which I pour so much of my identity, being grateful for the good parts and forgiving the bad.
My Filipino culture and heritage is something that I am extremely proud of, but little did I know the history behind the struggles that Filipino immigrants went through as they attempted to assimilate into what Filipinos deem as “the American dream.” Many times throughout my life I have received vague stories from my parents of how it was like to move here from the Philippines, and luckily, for the most part, it was a smooth transition. I mean, coming here during the 30s versus the 90s is a significant factor, but what I value about this book is how accessible a story like Bulosan’s is. There is no excuse to not learn about another’s history, especially when there is a whole month officially dedicated to it. You don’t need to be Filipino to learn about the experiences of a Filipino. The same idea goes for other cultures and their history.
To my fellow adobo-eating and boba-loving Filipinos: I hope you are especially embracing the history of your skin this month, and that you do your part to lessen the damaging aspects of our culture in your circles and for generations after you.
For others, I hope throughout the rest of Filipino-American History Month and outside of it, you go to culturally immersive events that AFIA thoughtfully plans and do some reading yourself on Filipino culture. But as a start, I call you to embrace the Filipino friend you may have in your circle, and see their beautiful traits not just as their characteristics, but what they identify as: a proud, strong, and probably at times, gossipping Filipino.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.